


Ignorance is Bliss

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Graphic Description, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:32:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin loses more than just Bilbo's trust during the Arkenstone debacle. Bilbo swears he's fine...until it's all too clear he's not. WARNING: GRAPHIC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignorance is Bliss

It's enough.  
  
The edge of Thorin's armor slams into the soft meat of his belly, hitting his left hipbone as he had been slightly turned. The edge of the stone wall rams into his lower back with enough impact to rattle his spine, tearing away the skin as his shirt rides up, most of it in the hands of the enraged king before those hands find their way to his neck. He looks into cold, crazed eyes, the eyes of the dwarf he'd followed all the way from the Shire, as far away from the safety of home that a hobbit has ever been. When he's free, the company unable to stand by, he doesn't notice it at first, pumped full of adrenaline and denial. His back stings, and he's bruised but soon it becomes clear that it's different. He makes it to Gandalf standing before the gate, pressing a hand to his lower back as he limps to them, eyes set ahead. The cramping doesn't start until they get word about the approaching orcs and it isn't bad enough that he makes a sound until the start discussing battle plans in an elven tent.  
  
He can feel the sweat on his brow, the wetness beneath him on the hardback chair and he can't lie; he's panicking.  
  
"It's alright, I'm alright."  
  
Maybe he's trying to convince himself but Gandalf looks frightened. Ha, one of the most powerful wizards in all of Middle Earth is terrified for one hobbit who was stupid enough to lay with a king. Bard's grip on his shoulders guides him but it's not comforting. Thranduil, always so level headed, orders for a healer to appear but Bilbo is fine he says, wraps a blanket loosely around him to conceal his shame despite the blood droplets hitting the ground around his buckling knees. He's fine, until he's not.  
  
All too suddenly, he's not.  
  
\--  
  
The first time they try and ply him with tea, a pain reliever for the bruising on his throat and back, and something to induce his...  
  
The second time they come, he has no choice; he accepts the blankets and towels as they've now forcefully placed him on the outskirts of the battle. He wants to fight, wants to be alongside the company and be of assistance but his vision is going in and out. He often feels a sharp pain and then there's a gush of bright red, soaking the towels they offer. He can see elven shadows pacing outside his tent but he doesn't want them to help him. He doesn't need their help really, when the first wave of injured is going to come in, he reasons breathlessly. They'll be wasting their time and supplies on one foolish hobbit.  
  
They're not convinced.  
  
\---  
  
He's barely lucid, some hours later while sharing a tent with an elf that took a mace to the shoulder (and luckily not the curious type). The bleeding has stopped for now but he feels swollen, like any sudden movements and he'll pop open and gush, and gush. He's starting to feel feverish, nauseous as the pain dulls and sharpens, ebbs and returns abruptly. He shivers as the blankets don't cover his top half, just his bottom to hide the sticky red mess that he won't let anyone tend to because he knows what they'll tell him. And he doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want anyone to know what he's done.  
  
Still, they check on him and his roommate every 45 minutes or so and though he often feels too exhausted to even breathe, he always seems to have the strength to snarl at them and slap at their hands if they try to check him over. One healer receives curses when they're so daring as to try and lift the blanket near his still slightly distended belly.  
  
Gandalf had even checked on him once, towards the end of the battle if his concept of time was correct but he didn't try to touch him. The wizard just watched with sad eyes and quickly left.

"Are all dwarrow medics hard of hearing? Leave. " Bilbo's tone is flat, tired as he doesn't even have the strength to sit up just yet. They moved his roommate to be with his kin after he woke and proved to be lucid; he'd wished Bilbo well. It just made the hobbit feel more ashamed that not only had he not fought at all, but he had not yet been able to get back on his feet (a small voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Gandalf noted he would likely be up already if he just gave in to seeing a healer but that was madness).

"Oooh, ye think yer a fiesty one? Nothin' compared to the dwarrows bleedin' out at the lower camps-"

"Then sh-shouldn't you be-" Bilbo winces, trying to get air back into his lungs, "-in the lower c-camps-"

The dwarf, his left eye an empty space and his forearms a mess of scars, leans in and begins to lift the blanket, as if to reveal the bloody mess to the open air but a shout startles him back. The edge of the blanket falls and Bilbo, having been propped up, leans forwards as far as he can and he can feel it then, more tearing and sliding out no matter how tight his knees are and how much he begs for this to not be happening. His eyes are squeezed shut, making him unaware of the softening of the medic's gaze.

"Laddie, ye can't fight yer way through 'is-"

"Leave, please, " Bilbo whispers as he shivers at the painful sensations, " Please, pleas-"

Then, the flap to the tent is thrown aside to remove several familiar faces, faces he really doesn't want to see right now. He pants, eyes squeezed shut as he continues his mantra but he can still hear them ask what's wrong with him, what happened, if he'll be okay. It won't be long before the dwarf answers them, he knows, before the old fool reveals the truth of Bilbo's greatest mistake.

"Poor lad's miscarrying. Won't let us check 'im-"

Fili, his head wrapped and his arm in a sling stumbles back as if he's been struck. Bilbo realizes his eyes are open now though his vision is starting to blur as his shame grows and leaves him as droplets on his cheeks. Bofur, his chest a mess of dirtied and bloody bandages, looks so pale that Bifur (where'd his head axe go?) has to steady him. Gloin, dried blood still on his face and in his beard, looks at Bilbo like he's never seen him before. Then Fili is leaving the tent like he's being chased, screaming for his uncle and Bilbo hates himself. Hates himself more than he hates Azog, more than he hates Smaug, more than he hates even the Arkenstone, the cause of it all.

Slumping as a renewed weakness enters his limbs, he feels the dwarf healer take this as his chance. Mumbles as his pulse is taken, more mumbles as the the blanket is lifted and his belly is touched gingerly, sorrowfully when the dark bruises are revealed to the remaining company.

Bilbo can't stand to be awake for any more and so he falls back and forgets...

 

 

 

....Thorin, looking like he's half dead, is at his bedside when he wakes.

He actually looks normal, not insane with gold lust and it is a good sign he's out of the mountain and not covered in jewels. (Considering half the company is in the room, Gandalf a rigid sentinel in the corner, they are not perhaps 100% he's all together there, though...) Waking slowly, Bilbo can't stop shaking which likely means it was a close call. He wishes he held out a little longer, wishes he'd let the hemorrhaging progress if only to avoid the look he's receiving right now.

The king doesn't dare touch him, just breaks down into the loudest, most pathetic sobs Bilbo has ever heard. If he wasn't so numb already then maybe he would have cried too when faced with his former lover's pain but right now...he wasn't sure what he was feeling, except disinterest. He was disinterested in listening to Thorin or the company's grief. He was disinterested in accepting his own grief. He was simply disinterested in everything, in living.

The cramping is gone, though he can feel the towels bundled beneath him. His skin is no longer sticking together, tacky with blood; they've cleaned him and likely done what they can to remove the rest of...the rest of it.

Bilbo feels it then, the emotions he's been trying to contain. It's just a flash before it's back under the surface where it belongs. He looks over at Thorin again, who continues to cry out of guilt perhaps? Shock? Bilbo is oddly curious as to what the king is feeling knowing he nearly had a child with a halfling. And yet at the same time, he doesn't because what if it's what Bilbo feels beneath the disinterest? What if when faced with Thorin's grief, he's forced to face his own? No, Bilbo thinks tiredly, No.

He doesn't want to know.


End file.
